


Dies Irae

by thewriteroflostcauses



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/M, M/M, i think i have a thing for bible talk, oops i did it again, send help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-09 09:21:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewriteroflostcauses/pseuds/thewriteroflostcauses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But if apples could speak then surely that one would have a great deal to say. For after it was plucked from its place on the tree it had grown from, it had witnessed a lot of things that, though better left unsaid, would be beneficial to anyone that has any interest at all in the Manor of Phantomhive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dies Irae

**X**

**xx** _Dies iræ.  
Dies illa  
Solvet sæclum in favilla:  
Teste David cum Sibylla._ **xx**

"On the first day, they buried him in a tomb of stone, and rolled a rock in front to seal the entrance." A face shrouded by dark hair looks up from its place between a pair of pale thighs, eyebrows arching high over scarlet irises. Mismatched eyes stare down at the servant, and it's somewhat ironic, the devil thinks, that though he is red in the face, panting, keening at every touch, Ciel still somehow manages to hold a very prideful and austere countenance. A smirk stretches across porcelain features, sweat dripping down from his brow line as he leans down just slightly so that his face is just that much closer to Sebastian's when he speaks again. "What? Why did you stop?"

As if it isn't obvious why he stopped (and really, it should be), the once butler — for he is no longer a butler, not really, just a servant to this lovely brat's every whim — gives a superfluous roll of the eye. "Perhaps it could be due to the fact that you went completely New Testament there on me, My Lord."

A bitty hand moves to knot in his raven locks, yanking hard and enticing a low growl from the elder. "I've told you time and time again," Ciel says while his smirk grows and grows, "that it's stupid to call me that while we share intimacy." It is hard for either of the males to remember when exactly their relationship took the plummet from a subordinate-master one to a romantic one. Maybe decades, centuries, an eternity — the details are for naught, and it does not matter, not truly. It happened and it cannot be fixed now that they have shared this bond; it has something that they have oh-so willingly grown used to and have accustomed their day-to-day lives upon.

And, with a smirk to mirror his lover's and a drag of a pointed tongue across his lower lip, teasing and pure torture for the once Earl above him, Sebastian mutters an, "Of course, _Ciel_ ", and instead puts his mouth to much better use. After all, he could not be a servant of Phantomhive if he could not bring his Lord pleasure, could he? Ciel can only fall back onto the soft bed of pillow and lace, mouth still smiling, and moan a soft _good boy_.

**xx** _Quantus tremor est futurus,  
Quando iudex est venturus,  
Cuncta stricte discussurus._ **xx**

Lithe fingers steeple together as the boy-shaped devil stares out of the massive window in his study. _Tap, tap_ goes the rain against the glass outside, drowned out but not lost to the sound of the wind blowing and the trees moaning and bending from the sheer force of it all. It is a gloomy day outside and just as gloomy within as the little demon broods. Sebastian has been gone for exactly six weeks, six days, and five hours. Tonight at midnight his contract will surely be over, but it's been a long and torturous time since the two had last been together and it is, to be put lightly, taking its toll on a one Ciel Phantomhive.

While he knows that it is quite necessary for Sebastian to feed, himself as well, it still is not as fun around the manor without the former butler. All the other servants have long since passed, buried beneath the soil in the gardens so long ago that they have each had time to grow and blossom into a lovely trio of rose bushes amidst the other plants. So to say that it is a lonely place without Sebastian would be an understatement. Between meals and contracts they are all each other has — it might be quite sad, really, but they don't mind all that much.

Hands fall limp into his lap as he swivels his chair about to face the desk, the quiet patter of rain a bleak sound behind him as he rolls himself forward and pokes around at the paperwork on his desk. Once upon a time this had been his job. Now, however, it is barely more than a way to pass the slowly ticking hours that mean very little to him. The act itself means nothing either, but still, he does it.

On the corner of his desk is a bright red apple, tempting and fresh from a tree outside. He had picked it from the tree before the rain had rolled in, earlier that afternoon. It catches his eyes and he glances at it.

_Tempting._

As he reaches out to take it, his lips purse in thought. There is a bolt of lightning and a crash of thunder outside, and the apple tumbles to the ground as the electricity flickers and goes out. Hm. Ciel turns to cast a glance over his shoulder.

"And on the second day, an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and rolled that rock away, taking a seat upon the top of it, saying 'Do not be afraid'."

But there was much to fear, wasn't there?

**xx** _Tuba mirum spargens sonum  
Per sepulchra regionum,  
Coget omnes ante thronum._ **xx**

Seeking hands, burning desires, pale flashes of bare skin shining in the moonlight, cries echoing in halls that have been empty for so very, very long, eyes darkened by lust, lips that dissolve flesh and melt fears — these are the ways that devils deal with things, Ciel thinks as his fingers flex against the abdomen below him that he is using to balance himself, voice low and heavy with want as he lowers himself, head falling back limply and eyes unseeing as they stare at the ceiling, and he _moans_ , the feeling delicious and shooting through his body, courses through his veins, displaces blood with want and need so sinful. His body lurches forward and his hips lift and fall, and his lover, all heated touches and growling groans of pleasure urges him on and punctuates every single one of Ciel's meek undulations with a thrust of his own.

Something is not quite right tonight; it is rare that Sebastian is ever on his back (and even more rare when Ciel chooses to ride him like this) and while he is not complaining, there is nothing reassuring in the way that Ciel refuses to meet his gaze, in the way that his Little Master cries out wantonly but does not speed up his pace, or demand that Sebastian do something about his. No, there is nothing right about this, nothing at all.

"C-Ciel—" He is promptly cut off however, when his thoughts are interrupted by something wet and salty, and not exactly cum falls on his lip, sliding down his chin and vanishing against the alabaster of his neck.

Tears.

The small boy is quickly stalled in his movements when hands find his hips and still him, crimson cutting up to see that, yes, the young devil is crying. "Oh, Ciel," the older coos, a hand flying up to wipe at the tears affectionately — and Ciel jerks like he hasn't done since... since years before he had ever even turned. "Ciel, love, my precious, beautiful Ciel, what ever is the matter?" Sebastian simpers as he turns a loving gaze on the other.

The boy shakes his head, hair sticking to his face due to perspiration, and he opens his mouth to speak but only lets out a whimper that is not quite befitting of their position. There is a not-real something that squeezes uncomfortably in Sebastian's chest and the raven haired man tilts his head to the side, waiting. It takes a while, but finally the young one speaks.

"And on the third day — he rose again."

**xx** _Mors stupebit, et natura,  
Cum resurget creatura,  
Iudicanti responsura._ **xx**

On the second floor of what was once the grand, magnificent Phantomhive mansion (though now it is little more than an old and dilapidated building) there is a study that was once used by the Earl of Phantomhive, otherwise known as The Queen's Watchdog. In that study, papers splayed all over the oak flooring, furniture falling to pieces and gone pungent with mildew, there lays an apple on the ornate rug positioned beneath a desk that had once been used for many things.

Now, very few know what became of the people that had dwelled in the place, but if apples could speak then surely that one would have a great deal to say. For after it was plucked from its place on the tree it had grown from, it had witnessed a lot of things that, though better left unsaid, would be beneficial to anyone that has any interest at all in the Manor of Phantomhive.

The fruit knows more than anything, that temptation — even for a devil — is a very bittersweet thing.

The fruit also knows that one day those two demons had been here, filling the home with noises of pleasure and conversation, and that the next day they had simply been gone without a trace, like the shadows had swallowed them whole and whisked them away.

**xx**

"How long do you think it will take this time?" The girl asks against the man's cold lips as she fits her fingers into locks spun of the night itself, her thighs spreading to make room for him to slide into. "I'll miss you if you're gone too long, you know."

The ravenette gives a chuckle as he returns the kiss with a roll of his hips. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he whispers to her, "you know that." Still, she scoffs and slides her hands down the back of his neck.

"Even after all these centuries, you still fail to give me a straight answer. Always the evasive one, you are. It's a nasty quality, Sebastian." Sebastian laughs against her mouth before pulling his away and tugging her naked body closer, loving the way her long, beautiful blue strands spill down the pale, creamy skin of her shoulders and back.

Teeth drag down her neck and she moans, the sound every bit as sensual as she wants it to be — for she knows that it drives him absolutely crazy. "You love it though, don't you..." He breathes in her scent, because they both understand they won't be seeing much of each other for a while. Contracts are a horrid business and they always have been. "Oh, Ciel, how I'll miss you so."

Ciel smiles, lazy and tired, and closes her eyes as she leans forward and sighs against the skin of his neck. She mumbles something that Sebastian does not quite catch.

"What was that?" The demon ponders, dropping a small kiss to her head and nuzzling into her hair.

“Some say John the Baptist; others say Elijah; and still others, Jeremiah or one of the prophets.”

 _Oh?_ Sebastian smiles and decides to play along, since he has become quite used to Ciel's interest in silly Bible blurbs, because no matter what form Ciel has taken, they are a constant, as confusing as it had been at first. "But who do you say that I am?"

“You are the Messiah."

**X**

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those fanfiction where you really have to think, otherwise the whole thing is going to fly right over your head. A lot of my writing is that way. :I


End file.
